I am ashamed to say that I
was unaware of this series, ‘Songlives’, the brainchild of Malcolm Martineau,
until the present concert. Each instalment attempts to show the development of
a song-composer throughout the entirety of his career. With Brahms, this worked
very well. Indeed, though much was, of course, missing, there was little or no
sense of glaring omission, and a proper sense of narrative progression, not least
since the programme was organised under six headings: ‘The early years,’ ‘Neue
Bahnen’, ‘First Maturity’, ‘Established in Vienna’, ‘The last twenty years’, and
‘At the end’. Martineau was joined by two fine artists: Hanno Müller-Brachmann
and, replacing Bernada Fink, Ann Murray. The former was on typically
rich-voiced form, whilst the latter’s patent sincerity and generosity of
delivery amply compensated for any loss of vocal bloom.

The recital opened with Heimkehr,Brahms’s first extant song. (Notoriously self-critical, Brahms
destroyed a frightening number of earlier and indeed later works.) Though
published in 1854, it was composed in 1851, and, according to Susan Youens’s
informative booklet note, is only twenty-one bars long. Though the predominant
mood is of agitation, Müller-Brachmann nevertheless achieved considerable subtlety
of shading. The next song, an Eichendorff setting, In der Fremde, fell to Murray, the singers alternating for quite a
while. A sense of Heimweh offered
welcome contrast with the first song; likewise the grave simplicity of the
following Der Überlaufer and the dark
Romanticism of Liebestreu. Opening
the second section, Müller-Brachmann’s – and Martineau’s – Ständchen proved nicely anticipatory, even though we all knew
and/or sensed that hopes would be dashed. Brahms himself was the star of An eine Äolfsharfe, the ravishing
harmony on ‘melodische Klage’ – a melodious lament indeed – quite taking one’s
breath away, though Martineau should of course also take credit for its
communication. The post-Schubertian quality of Der Gang zum Liebchen was well captured by Murray.

We then entered ‘First
maturity’, allotted at first to Müller-Brachmann. The Platen setting, Wehe, so willst du mich wieder, was
turbulent in mood yet benefited throughout from clarity of piano line.
Müller-Brachmann’s melting vocal delivery of the Hafiz translation, Wie bist du, meine Köngin, was very much
a high-point of the recital, bringing the odd tear to these eyes. Keinen hat es noch gereut was vividly
pictorial, Tieck’s nimble steed (Roß)
springing to life before our ears. The same poet’s Sind es Schmerzen received a setting and performance again haunted
by the spirit of Schubert, albeit with typical Brahmsian ‘lateness’, a word
that came to mind again and again, despite – or, on some occasions, even on
account of – the strophic quality of a number of his songs. Murray’s Am Sonntag Morgen received a subtly
ambiguous, subtly knowing performance: never overdone, but nevertheless aware. Die Mainacht was beautifully hushed,
pregnant, with a brief vocal blooming upon the doves’ cooing. An die Nachtigall and Von ewiger Liebe were also Murray’s, the
former benefiting especially from Martineau’s telling, unexaggerated delivery
of piano syncopations, whilst the former offered a strange yet familiar
marriage between tradition and alienated modernity that was very much Brahms’s
own.

The singers shared ‘Established
in Vienna’, following the interval, Murray opening with Auf dem See. Müller-Brachmann responded with Regenlied, not the text
indicated in the programme, but Brahms’s op.59 no.3., from which he hauntingly quotes
in the first violin sonata. The involved writing of Ach, wende diesen Blick, sounded very much of Brahms’s maturity,
Murray’s Meine Liebe ist grün a
touching pendant from Felix Schumann.

Murray’s Therese was the first from the ‘last twenty years’ group, followed
by the anything-but-cheery Rückert Mit
vierzig Jahren, Müller-Brachmann’s rich tone an especial boon upon such
melancholy terrain. Murray’s Sapphische
Ode not only charmed but moved; her Schön
war, das ich dir weihte a plangent contrast with the brief fury of her
partner’s Kein Haus, keine Heimat.
High Romanticism, or rather Late High Romanticism, was once again the order of
the day in Auf dem Kirchhofe, to
which Murray’s Mädchenlied offered
winning contrast. Both singers were employed in each of the three ensuing
folksong settings: beautifully judged, with inevitable glances forward towards
Mahler, despite the difference in style. Schwesterlein
in particular emerged as decidedly ‘late’, an evocation of childhood that was
haunted indeed. Müller-Brachmann’s two songs from the Vier ernste Gesänge were powerful yet restrained, Brahms’s
apparently timeless archaism in reality anything but. Dark echoes of Ein deutsches Requiem led us to ultimate
consolation – of sorts. Much the same could be said of the folksong and ‘lullaby’
encores with which this enlightening recital came to a close.